Chapter 28 Quin #2
With the benefit of hindsight, it was easy to see that his relationship with Lark also hadn’t helped.
Whenever he’d berated himself for being stupid, Lark had never bothered to disabuse him of the idea like Kit did.
Quin balanced Kit, and Kit did the same for him.
Until Lawrence’s possession, Quin had become comfortable in his own skin for the first time in recent memory.
And not only his human skin, but his wolf, too.
The other part of him, just as undeniable as his love for Kit.
Quin missed running under the light of the moon.
The notion hit him with such suddenness that he almost stumbled as he walked down the street.
He’d never before longed to be at one with his wolf, and yet, he craved the freedom it would offer him.
Freedom to run with Kit all night, to keep up with him, to bond as the creatures they both were.
After a greasy all-day breakfast, he took a stroll around the little town, head still tumbling with thoughts.
He wanted to waste as much time as possible, but there was little to be seen; a few shops here and there, a small park with a war monument, and an old church with the spire obscured by scaffolding.
He wandered into a promising-looking gallery, and was rewarded with a plethora of local art pieces.
His distraction for the afternoon would be picking up something for Kit.
A lot of the art wasn’t his style—too twee, or too abstract—but one he thought would fit well in the house. Neither of the dogs painted sitting on the dock were cocker spaniels, but one had a glint in its eye that reminded him of Mabel.
At the desk, the woman—who’d barely glanced up from her book when he’d entered—caught his eye. “Find everything?”
Quin bobbed his head from side to side. “Considering this one, but I’m looking for something for my partner.”
She gave him a discerning look. “Do they like jewellery?”
Quin considered this. “Yes?” Kit didn’t wear any jewellery other than a watch, but Quin assumed he just hadn’t bothered to buy himself nice things as opposed to having a genuine dislike of it.
Her eyes twinkled. “We’ve got a variety in the case there”—she pointed to her left at a tall cabinet with rows of earrings, bracelets, necklaces and other items lining the inside—“or I can show you the ones that are handcrafted by local artists. They’re pricier, but they’re all one-offs.”
She knew what she was doing. Quin couldn’t resist. “The one-offs, please.”
She unlocked a drawer in her desk, pulling it out to reveal a small selection of rings, and only rings.
“They’re all rings,” he said, stating the obvious.
“Uh-huh.”
“For…” He mimed putting a ring on the fourth finger on his left hand.
“Yes,” she said, giving him a serene smile.
“Right.” He looked down at the rings. “We’ve not been together long,” he hedged.
“If you know, you know.”
“You’re correct, even if you’re only trying to make a sale.”
She lifted an unrepentant shoulder. “So, do you know?”
He paused, considering. The ring that sat on his own hand seemed to taunt him. How nice it would be to get rid of Lawrence and be free to take the next step with Kit, unburdened by either of their pasts.
“Yeah,” he said, firming up his decision. “I know.”
By the early evening, Quin was pretty sure he’d seen almost everything the town had to offer.
The tiny box in his pocket felt heavy as he made his way through the gate to a public walled garden that had been recommended to him by the gallery owner.
The sun finally made an appearance as he wandered, so he sat on a bench next to a small pond, listening to the faint buzzing of bees above the flowerbeds as he scrolled through notifications on his phone.
A small splash drew his attention to the pond.
He went over and knelt down, phone in hand, trying to spot where in the aquatic foliage the creature that had made the noise was hidden.
A frog perhaps, or a fish. Another splash at the other side of the pond made him jump, and he fumbled his phone.
It dropped towards the water, plopping in before he could save it.
Quin stared forlornly at the spot where it had disappeared until a flash of bright colour drew his eye.
The sight of Lawrence’s face where his own should have been froze Quin in place.
His chest heaved as he drew nervous breaths in and out, unable to look away from the wrong reflection. Quin’s pinky began to throb, and he broke away from Lawrence’s transfixing gaze only to watch in horror as Xavier’s ring snapped in two, falling onto the wet grass, useless.
A sense of powerlessness washed over Quin, and his control slipped. Lawrence snuck behind his meagre personal defences. Quin had a split second to make a panicked decision, so took the first action that came to mind.
He threw himself forwards into the pond, dunking his head.
The shock of the cold hitting his face had him gasping for breath, water filling his mouth and nose. Darkness swamped his vision as he strained for air.
The next thing Quin knew, he stood upright on the grass, retching. But it wasn’t him who coughed and spluttered as bile spewed from his throat, the acid burning on his tongue.
Water dripped from his wet hair as Lawrence forced Quin’s body to move. Every step was robotic as Quin warred with him for control over his movements. Legs burning, chest tight, head hammering, Quin fought. Despite it all, he couldn’t so much as wiggle a toe.
He strove to stay awake, to not fall into the unconscious blackness that he had the previous times he’d been taken over. It took all of his energy not to fade away, so it felt inevitable when Lawrence’s thoughts replaced his own.
Quin was a prisoner in his body, and he could do nothing to fight it.
“Drowning yourself would have been inconvenient for the both of us.” The words were not his. Lawrence craned his neck back, looking up at the sky. “Stop pouting, Quin. It’s unbecoming.”
Quin strained to form a coherent response. It’s my fucking body, and I’ll pout all I like.
“Look at you, learning how to speak in your own head. Congratulations.” Lawrence began to take him out of the garden, walking with purpose.
Quin didn’t need to ask where they were going. Don’t you dare, he yelled in his mind.
Lawrence didn’t even dignify him with a response.
Quin raged against Lawrence the entire way to the cottage, but it was no use.
Lawrence entered the front door like he owned the place, striding in through the hall.
There was a scant moment when he approached the bedroom where Quin swore his steps faltered.
But Quin wasn’t able to take back control, so Lawrence pushed the door open with no resistance.
Kit lay in the bed, just where Quin had left him. He looked deliciously vulnerable.
Quin realised that wasn’t his opinion.
“Hello, darling,” Lawrence said.
Kit didn’t stir. Quin had hoped whatever vampire instincts Kit possessed would sense the threat in the room, but Lawrence’s presence didn’t seem to trigger it.
If you touch him—
“You’ll do nothing,” Lawrence replied. “I can do what I want to you, and I can do what I want to Christopher.”
Quin wanted to throw up.
Instead of going after Kit like Quin expected, Lawrence rifled through the side table drawer, drawing out the necklace that they’d gone to such lengths to procure.
“I’ll be getting rid of this. Oh, and…” He pulled the box Quin had hoped he wouldn’t notice from his pocket, laughing when he flipped it open. “It’s so small.”
Sick with worry over Kit, Quin couldn’t formulate his thoughts into any coherent response. It was like he was only an afterthought in his own mind.
Lawrence put everything back into his jeans pocket.
With one last glance at Kit, Lawrence skulked out of the room and down the hallway to the other bedroom.
He opened the door to reveal Rake, DJ, and Shaun lying tangled together, dead to the world.
Lawrence loomed over the bed, a hand reaching towards where Shaun was tucked into Rake’s side at the edge of the mattress.
Quin tried with all his might to stop from moving, but he wasn’t able to.
His hand landed on Shaun’s head, fingers tangling in his red curls. Quin’s revulsion couldn’t overwhelm Lawrence’s delight at Shaun being in his power once again. He stroked Shaun as one would a treasured pet, his proprietary attitude growing with every touch.
“Perhaps I can take him with me.” As fast as Lawrence considered it, he decided against it. “No. Too risky.”
Quin’s stomach tied itself in knots as he tried to focus enough to figure out what Lawrence was planning, but his thoughts were too jumbled to parse.
Lawrence pressed his hand to his abdomen. “You’re going to make us vomit. Again.”
Stop being a sick fuck, then.
Displeasure rumbled through his body. He took a long look at Shaun’s unconscious form. “Goodbye, pet.”
Lawrence went to the kitchen next, rummaging through the drawers until he found what he was looking for.
A box of matches.
“Perfect.”
No! Yelling inside his own head felt like banging against a locked door, the desperate echo reverberating through his mind.
Lawrence looked at his reflection in the toaster, a warped smirk on his face. “Oh, yes. It’s only fair, isn’t it?”
Quin needed to do something—anything. He raged inside his own mind, but his body felt like a separate entity. Even though he knew it was his limbs that were moving, he wasn’t the one pulling the strings.
Quin hadn’t had this rationality the last couple of times he’d been possessed. His moments of clarity had been fleeting. Then, it had been like a lucid dream. Now, it was a waking nightmare.
Lawrence hummed a tune Quin didn’t recognise as he went outside.
It stopped Quin from being able to focus at all.
Whether it was a convenient side effect or a deliberate action on Lawrence’s part to obfuscate his plans, Quin didn’t know.
All he could do was linger in the back of his own mind as Lawrence opened the boot of the car, pulling out the little fuel can that Quin always kept there as part of his emergency kit.
Lawrence stalked back into the house, heading straight for the room Kit was in. He poured the petrol over the end of the bed, soaking the sheets. The pungent smell coated his nostrils. Quin screamed and shouted and shrieked, but not so much as a whisper left his mouth without Lawrence’s approval.
“You won’t escape me this time, darling,” Lawrence said to Kit’s unconscious body. He backed out through the door, dripping petrol all the way to the other bedroom. It got the same treatment, though an odd pang of emotion swooped in his belly when they caught sight of Shaun once more.
You don’t want to do this to him. For all that Lawrence seethed and raged when he thought about Shaun, a part of him still desired Shaun more than anything.
“He betrayed me. He’s getting what he deserves.”
You want to spare him.
Lawrence paused. “Maybe. It would be nice to have my pet back.”
Quin channelled the emotions he had for Kit—all the love and fondness and adoration—into his body.
He tried to channel it physically; to let it fill him up and replace the bitter, gnawing hatred that Lawrence was flooding him with.
If he convinced Lawrence to save Shaun, then he might stall him enough to give Quin time to come up with a desperate solution.
But it wasn’t enough.
“No,” Lawrence said. “No. I will not take a betrayer to my bed.”
Quin’s panic spiralled. Time was running out.
Lawrence left the bedroom, dribbling the last of the petrol. He shook out the dregs and chucked the can into the hall, then pulled out the matches.
“Say goodbye, Quin.”
Lawrence lit a match, Quin experiencing the strike as if it was a physical blow. Lawrence raised the match high, the flame reaching upwards. His hand shook as Quin tried to wrest back control.
And then the flame blew out.
Lawrence sighed in frustration, dropping it and striking another match. He threw it on the petrol, but it extinguished before it landed.
“Are you doing this?” Lawrence demanded.
Quin wished he was, but he was just as confused as Lawrence.
“Hmph.” Lawrence struck yet another match. This time, it went out immediately, the smoke curling up and disappearing into the air.
Lawrence sighed. “The kitchen has an induction hob, doesn’t it?”
Yes. Quin let his satisfaction roll through him.
“Modern. Appliances,” Lawrence seethed. “I suppose we’ll have to do something less dramatic.”
Lawrence walked to the bedrooms once more, but stopped short when a ghostly figure appeared in the hallway. Matthew hovered an inch above the floor, staring him down. His body was as intangible as the match smoke, but his expression of pure hatred was clearly visible.
“Of course,” Lawrence said. “You followed us.”
Matthew raised an imperious brow. In a blink, Thomas materialised beside him. Quin waited, but Jack didn’t appear.
He just didn’t know if that was a good thing or not.